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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 




ROLLAND HEATHE 



TANGLED THREADS 

A Tale of Mormonism 



By 
m/I:. DUDLEY 




Boston : Richard G. Badger 



1905 



Copyright 1905 by M. E. Dudley 



All rights reserved. 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDles Received 

MAY 3 t9®6 




^ 






PRINTED AT 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

BOSTON, U. S. A. 



TANGLED THREADS 

A Tale of Mormoiiism 

Canto First 

( The scenes in this canto are found 
in the southern part of Minnesota.) 

The bright, June sun is sinking low ; 
His slant rays cast a crimson glow 
Upon a hamlet in the West : — 
Full tenderly his colors rest 
Upon the lake, where, long has rolled 
Each limpid wave, just touched with gold : 
He tips the foam-wreaths on the beach, 
And brightens all, within his reach ; 
Once brightens all, then draws each beam 
From off the lake and winding stream : 
Upon the hill he throws his ray. 
And there he bids adieu to Day. 

But when the sun was out of sight. 
There yet remained a pleasing light; 
For Twilight, with her gentle hands. 
Clasped Day and Night with silver bands. 
Till shadows in the valley crept 
And thickened, while the sunbeams slept. 

3 



From out the East the rounding moon, 
Serenely on the blue lake shone. 
The heavy waves to ripples fell, 
Until its troubled breast was still. 
iVlong the shore the willow trees 
Were gently stirred by passing breeze; 
Upon the waters at their feet 
The branch and shadow seemed to meet. 

Not one, perchance, had paused to note 
The tranquil beauty of the spot ; 
Till Ida Glen from village street. 
Its quiet sought, its cool retreat. 
She often lingered here to dream, 
Until the twilight's warning beam 
Of darkness told; but, ere the shade 
Of night grew deep, and thickly laid 
Its gloom, she sought the humble hearth. 
And Mother love, and Mother worth. 

Because her spirit loved the light, 
Its mirroring of life was bright. 
And found no sympathy in night. 
'Tis thus we ever seek the place. 
Unconsciously, where we may trace 
Our natrue in Great Nature's face. 
And souls like hers, unfit for strife. 
Forsake the world's highway of life, 
To seek some shaded, sylvan spot. 
Abiding there to be forgot. 

Tonight mused Ida till the long 

Gray shadows lengthened ; and the song 

Of birds was hushed: — Thought seemed 

to reach 
And touch the darkness on Life's beach. 




IDA GLENN 



Her dreams were scattered by the beat, 

The distant sound of horse's feet, 

Whose steel-clad hoofs the silence broke, 

And flung the echoes that they woke. 

A stranger from the forest rode 

And reached the spot where Ida stood. 

As, guided by his master's will, 

The horse beneath the trees stood still; 

Where Ida, hoping that the night 

Would shield her from the stranger's sight. 

Embarrassed half, and half afraid. 

Had paused beneath their friendly shade. 

" You're weary too, my well-tried steed. 
Tonight the turf must fill our need; 
We rest here, till the Morn shall wake, 
Upon the green shores of this lake." 

No thought had Ida, now, of fear, 
But only of the stranger near. 
So weary that the shore could seem 
A fitting place to sleep and dream. 
She quickly stepped from out the shade 
With modest greeting, as she said; — 

" Sir, yonder is our humble home. 
My parents both, would bid you come, 
And I, too, ask that you will share 
The stranger's portion waiting there. 
Come, where that lonely light doth burn, 
My mother now, waits my return." 

" Most thankful for your proffered aid. 
Your grateful debtor am I made. 
So endless seemed the leafy wood. 
So dense the silent solitude, 

5 



I had not known a dwelling near, 
And thought tonight of resting here." 

Far up the heavens with tender light, 
The moon alone, suggested night. 
It pierced the shadows on the shore. 
And kissed the ripples o'er and o'er. 
Day seemed to weep o'er Evening's tomb 
And gave Night's charm without its gloom. 

The stranger paused, entranced, to view 
A scene to him so fair and new. 
Ah, reader, come, behold him now. 
With lifted hat to cool his brow ; 
A brow, that, like a cloud of white. 
Could give a shadowing of Night. 

As changes Summer's chequered sky, 
As oft, th' expression of his eye. 
When list'ning to the wrongs of age, 
It pitied, while it flashed with rage. 
Or, if some one of youthful years. 
Would tell of fondest hopes, or fears, 
'Twould glow with feeling, melt in tears. 

A man in shadow — of the shade: 

In sunlight — there no gloom he made: 

And one, well-skilled to read, could trace 

A want of firmness in his face : 

It ever, when the most at rest 

A vague uncertainty expressed. 

There was a lack, too, half-defined. 

That seeming instinct of the mind. 

Which parts the gross from the refined. 

And Ida, as she saw him there. 

The moonlight on his soft, dark hair. 



The quiet influence of the place, 

The worn look soothing, on his face, 

Thought only of the true and good, 

Her guileless nature understood. 

Ah, trusting girlhood ! woman's life 

Was given, that she might find its strife ! 

Awhile the stranger viewed the spot; 
His weariness seemed all forgot. 
Forgotten were the maid and steed. 
While Nature measured to his need; 
Till Ida's timid voice and low. 
His calm broke o'er — "You're weary 

now — " 
"Ay, very weary, I will go." 

He smiled down at the upturned face, 
And thought how innocent its grace. 
Then lightly loosed the knotted rein, 
And slowly sought the road again. 

A bright glow mounted to his cheek, 
He did not seem inclined to speak; 
But watched the little cottage light 
In silence; gleaming through the night 
Its welcome ; every sighing breath. 
That murmured of the daylight's death, 
So sadly seemed to whisper now. 
Nor quieted his throbbing brow. 

A voice within was sadder yet. 
It told of days he would forget. 
It told of friends that he had met. 
To Ida Glen the wind was sweet. 
It bore life's perfume to her feet; 
The rose's bloom had felt no blight. 
Her day had not suggested night. 

7 



Why must the shadows lurk and wait ? 
Why hath each joy an opposite? 

Her father met them at the door ; 
A fondly chiding look he wore. — 
" You're late tonight, my darling child,"- 
He bent to kiss her as she smiled, — 
Then gently stroked her drooping head, 
And turning to the stranger said: — 

*' Thrice welcome to our humble cot ! 
Though strangers in the surface sense, 
Our mutual needs are recompense 
For foreign deed, and birth, and lot. 
Our settlers on the fair lake-side. 
In honest labor feel a pride ; 
And stranger voices seldom break 
The quiet home-life by the lake. 
Yet are we well pleased with our lot, 
Nor would we seek a richer spot; 
So calm the life the forest brings, 
Removed from worldly envyings." 

All wearily the stranger sighed. 
And sadly smiling, low replied, — 

" You find content in lowly cot; 
A restless nature is my lot. 
Impatient o'er the world I range, 
To seek for happiness in change. 
I'm but a slave, while seeming free; 
So wearisome seems life to me: 

" I've been on ocean's surging breast; 
To foreign climes In search of rest ; 
Alas ! no country seemeth best. 

8 



The trees, I've seen bud, thirty Springs, 
Each Summer still her tempest brings." 

" Still, gentle sir, you must have seen 
The joy, in part, that lies between. 
The hope, in part, that keeps life green; — 
Some loved one, who could make you glad, 
No human heart is always sad." 

Some natures most desire to roam; 
Some, find their chief delight at home. 
It proves in one, no greater worth, 
If love of quiet bless his birth, 
Than rests in him, who holds his ease 
Where discords harmonize to peace. 

But, wherefore should we moralize. 
When winter suns, and summer skies, 
Are living lessons to our eyes ? 
Why muse on these, and leave to chance, 
The actors in this life romance? 

Though Ida's home was poor, yet, there 
Breathed in it such a cheerful air. 
The wearied stranger soon forgot 
The bitter portion of his lot. 
And when the frugal meal was o'er. 
And all were seated round once more. 
He told his wanderings, their worth 
Augmented by some glimpse of mirth. 

He told of Moscow's many towers. 
Of fair Etruria's garden bowers, 
Till minutes wended into hours. 
While they who listened, seemed to go 
From Russia's never-melting snow. 
To sweet Italia's summer bloom : — 



Or, gaze In woe upon the doom 

Of glory past — whose present gloom 

Fit marble raises for Greece's tomb. 

Conversed they long, until the hour 
Of midnight warned them to retire. 
Then Ida brought, with woman's care, 
The Bible, for the evening prayer. 
The moon had sunk behind the height. 
Ere Rolland Heathe had said " Good 
night." 

Upon the wood deep shadows lay, 
And changed to thicker gloom, the gray 
That settled, when the evening light 
Gave faint suggestion of the night. 
Far o'er the wood-bound lake's calm breast. 
The same deep shade had sunk to rest. 
Its waters, azure in the light. 
Had taken color from the night; — 
But soon the morn shall change its hue, 
From deepest black to brightest blue. 



lO 



I 



Canto Second 

( The storm described occurred 
near Belle Plain in Southern Min- 
nesota, three days' ride from the 
lake spoken of in Canto First,) 

A sudden quivering of the leaves! 
A startled sigh the forest heaves! 
In weary woe all nature grieves ! 
The singing shallows of the stream 
Forget their music, and their gleam 
The liquid mirror lends the gray 
Of worthless pebbles ; — So the day 
Is but the even gloom of night, 
Gilded and glorified with light. 

Far westward as the eye can reach. 
Like misty view of broken beach. 
Dark rose, the distant hill-tops o'er, 
A warning cloud; and, like the roar 
Of deathful breakers near the shore. 
The thunder muttered too, of doom. 
Prolonged and dirge-like in the gloom. 

Ere long the sun withdrew his light. 
The cloud rolled dark to zenith height. 
Proclaiming wild, tempestuous night. 
The forest foliage, outlined 
Against the sky, grew dark; the wind 
In fitful blasts blew wildly, then 
Grew calm, as if it had not been. 



II 



On all, as still the storm drew near, 
When every motion seemed to sleep. 
Profound, prophetic, pulseless, deep, 
A silence fell, a hush of fear. 

Beside a heavy-voiced cascade, 

Whose waters nature's dirges played, 

A silent maiden sat serene. 

And viewed the grandeur of the scene. 

She seemed to feel a solemn awe. 

Within the rising tempest saw 

A fuller power than natural law. 

Her soft, long hair's abundant braid, 
Was less of sunlight than of shade. 
It served to mark the queenly grace 
Of power, that slumbered in the face. 
And, like a drift of purest snow, 
When softenec by the crimson glow 
Of sunset cloud, imparting light, 
In passing, to its perfect white, — 
That fair face glistened, when the heart 
Some deep emotion would impart. 

Her eyes were of that changing hue. 
That's sometimes black, and sometimes 

blue. 
They showed a soul, intense and deep. 
Oft silent, but ne'er wrapt in sleep. 

Do spirits sleep? Methinks there are 
Souls, passions do not seek to mar. 
Some cold, proud natures, where we find 
The deepest impulse ruled by mind. — 
Yet, who may tell? The outward calm. 
May hide the fiercer inward storm. 

12 




WAIF 



Perchance, that, when men rest and dream, 
Their souls pass o'er the turbid stream; 
Beyond the intense gloom and roar 
Of waters, to the Farther Shore, — 
To mingle with the Angel throng, 
To catch some strains of holy song, 
Bearing back, o'er the murky Tide, 
Only dreams from the Other Side. 

When Nature's fearful anger broke. 
In loud, terrific thunders spoke. 
When winds roared roughly from the hill, 
While yet the verdured vale was still, 
The maiden started from her dream. 
Beside the winding, woodland stream. 

And, with the present sense of ill. 
The soul knows, when the human will 
Is basking in a borrowed light, — 
Like sunset cloud, ere fold of night, ~ 
With wakened energy's alarm, 
She sought a shelter from the storm. 

A small hut, close within the wood, 
Safe, sheltered by the forest stood. 
Before the first blast died away, 
Before the tall elms ceased to sway. 
She reached this meagre, lone retreat, 
And deemed e'en such protection meet. 

On wooden hinges hung, the door 
Was old and heavy; and before 
Her eager hands had pressed it to, 
There fell, the startled forest through 
A flash, a fearful crash, and then, 
A long, low moan of one in pain. 

13 



Scarce heedful of the tempest's wrath, 
She quick retraced the narrow path, 
Till, through the pauses of the rain. 
She heard the wailing moan again. 

It guided to a fallen oak, 

Whose boughs new-rent by lightning stroke, 

Swayed wildly in a human fear. 

And utter anguish desolate, 

With proud height hurled to level fate, 

Of lowly, living verdure near. 

Ah, well to grieve its perished power ! 
And well regret the saddened hour. 
When human soul is called to see 
Its pure growth measured as this tree ! 

Our fate lies in a blossomed way: 
A mere breath bears the bloom astray. 
We view its brown, so fresh before, 
And realize 'tis fair no more. 

Pale grew Waif's cheek with fear and 

dread. 
For near lay one, who seemed now dead. 
Upon the leaves lay, here and there. 
Dark drops of blood, on forehead fair, 
Upon the rich waves of his hair. 

Smoothed she the passive, whitened brow, 
Warm clasped the hand so nerveless now. 
Each gentle effort proved but vain ; 
He would not wake to life again. 
Unheeded rain drops fell at will, 
O'er him so deathlike, white and still. 

14 



Waif felt a stronger arm must come 
To bear the stricken stranger home. — 
One last long look of pity gave, 
On whom her pity might not save, 
Then turning swift at Hope's command, 
She sought a parent's willing hand. 

Long hours trailed onward into days. 
The slow-wrought weeks to Autumn rolled ; 
With dreamy promptings, mellow haze. 
And crimson interspersed with gold, 
Ere Rolland Heathe's returning life. 
Longed newly for the old-time strife. 

Not wholly were those hours a void. 
They something gave, in part destroyed. 
Waif's calm, true nature, chaste as art. 
Her untaught nobleness of heart, 
Had been their fuller, better part. 

A whitened presence, strong though still, 
O'erruled his life and bound his will. 
The chafing at this home unsought 
Was pretense for the hidden thought. 
That wished the time too quickly run, 
Twice folded back to be begun? 

In dimpling May the robins love. 
The Summer nests the cooing dove. 
September, with its crimson days. 
Its liquid beauty, lambent rays. 
Brings human hearts their human good, 
To stand revealed and understood. 

To Waif 'twas rapture new and rare ; — 
A common perfume of the air 
To him, who, 'neath the starry sky, 
Whispered his love and bade good-bye. 

15 



Canto Third 

( The following scene is in a gar- 
ret in the city of New York.) 

Beside a meagre couch of pain, 
A watcher sang a plaintive strain, 
To one, who, with the winter breath, 
Was breathing onward unto death. 
So aged, the sufferer could tell 
Of carnage, when the century's swell 
Of our staunch nation, was a tone. 
Perplexed, discordant, and unknown. 

But now, this theme, so oft her pride, 
Was broken as she neared the Tide. 
A dull, still lethargy at last 
Revealed the future, veiled the past. 
An uttered word, a gasp, a moan, 
And Manah wailed in grief alone. 

What need to echo of the woe 
The human heart must feel to know? 
The coffin, ent'ring at the door, 
The dear one, gone forevermore. 
The cold sod, beating at the grave. 
The weary turning back, where, save 
A memory, we are all bereft. 

So vivid is the present pain, 

It permeates the life ; the brain 

Reels onward moaning — -"Nothing left!" 

17 



Poor Manah, on the dreary day, 
They laid her cherished dead away, 
Alone, she climbed the attic stair. 
Surveyed her humble home, so bare 
Of needful comfort; — as she heard. 
In fancy, every loving word 
The lost one gave, of tender truth. 
To guide her weird and wayward youth. 
She hurled her anguish at such fate. 
In one fierce cry, and passionate. 

Too tired, at last, to longer weep. 
The sick soul found a balm in sleep. 
'Twas not a dreamless slumber, but 
The eyelids heavy, drooped and shut. 
The sunlight, through the dusty glass, 
Crept out to let a phantom pass ; 
Which measured out a dream, so fraught 
With power, it chained the waking thought. 

At lonely midnight, Manah rose. 

Too anxious to again repose; 

And, more her restless nerves to still. 

Than following a settled will, 

She strove to quite confirm her doubt, 

By seeking what was pointed out. 

An ancient mirror, cracked and small. 
Was hanging on the broken wall. 
The candle's red, uncertain flame. 
Scarce shaped the shadows as they came. 
The image, that the mirror held. 
Was indistinct, yet, it repelled 
Poor Manah; there the lonely eyes, 

i8 




MANAH 



So liquid with a vague surprise; 

Their splendor, while compelled to weep, 

Half hidden in their inner deep. 

The jar of her impatient feet. 
The passion of a heart's quick beat, 
Perchance a fate — whate'er the spell, 
The loosened mirror, crashing, fell: 

Among its scattered fragments lay 
Some written papers, aged and gray. 
She grasped them, lost to all things, save 
This wondrous message from the grave. 
With eager hands, the clasp unsealed. 
And held a mystery revealed : 

The faded lines she read, compelled 
A meaning, that but feebly caught 
The inner consciousness of thought; — 
Nor compassed half that meaning held. 

Her birth — a far and sunny land — 
A tender parent's last bequest — 
Of fair possessions in the West, 
Another held with recreant hand; — 
These thoughts she grasped, and, trem- 
bling knew. 
Her triumph from a vision grew: 
Then Manah read the late mourned dead, 
But stood to her in parent's stead. 

The hand of Dawn unsealed the East. 
Nev/ day the city's din increased; 
Still Manah sat in anxious thought, 
So tangled were the threads she sought. 
Faint Memory's suggestions came. 
And called her by her childhood's name. 
Again the Past let fall one gleam 

19 



Of shaded walk and gurgling stream, 
That she had cherished as a dream. 

Then Manah rose, amazed and stilled; 
Astonished at her dream fulfilled. 
O'erjoyed, yet fearful, scarce convinced, 
Bewildered, and yet recompensed. 
Beholding, in its untold worth, 
The secret of her life and birth: 

Who dares assert one human soul 
Beyond the power of that control. 
Where human will divines events, 
Submissive to God's sapience : 

A power, guiding, shapes our course; 
Decrees each nature, and its source; 
Restrains nor limits not its force. 
We make the current slow or strong; 
We cherish or refuse the wrong. 



20 



Canto Fourth 

{After a year's absence Rolland re- 
turns, and he and Waif are married.) 

A STRANGE NEWCOMER 

The Spring's capricious, maiden feet, 
Had wandered to the Summer's heat. 
The season's matronage and pride. 
Seemed fitting symbols for the bride, 
Who wore the fragrant orange wreath, 
And pledged her faith to Rolland Heathe. 

Waif held her spirit's spotless whole, 
Criterion for her husband's soul. 
Burned incense at an altar, where 
The censer and the lights were fair, 
And felt no lack of virtue there. 

Go, Spirit of the evil heart. 
And rend Deceit's false veil apart! 
Come, Angel of the holy breath. 
To comfort, ere the wife shall know 
The measure of her cup of woe. 
The bitterness of life in death: 

Or yet its yearly course was run. 
The earth, opaque, around the sun, 
A stranger, clad in garb of woe, 
Came once, at twilight, to abide: — 
With raven hair and liquid eyes, 

21 



Which seemed the inner thought to hide, 
In rapture of their full surprise. 

In bitterness of wrath and blame, 

The stranger proudly spoke her name. — 

" I came to bend the haughty will, 

The pride that wealth, dishonor give ; 

To show the recompense of ill. 

To prove my right, henceforth, to live ! 

**A vagrant, wand'ring on the earth. 
In dreams, God showed at evening hour, 
This home, all mine, by right of birth. 
Yours, only, through usurping power. 

" If written proofs you wish, to show 
How well your history I know. 
The law within my hand behold. 
That gives me right to land and gold ! 

" My father, in your father's care, 
At death, placed me, his only heir. 
Made warden of her lib'ral dower. 
Come, gradually, the thirst for power; 
And you, sir, fell through its control, 
With murder written on your soul I 

" Thrown grossly to the care of one, 
Whose life was dimmed, ere mine begun, 
To keep, and clothe, and hold within 
Due bounds; familiar with world's sin — 
Ay, nurtured in its school of crime, 
To feel its lessons for all time! 

" December's roughness filled the air. 
Dread Winter's sorrow, blank and bare, 
To Penury's children, brought no cheer : — 

22 




MANAH 



A hut, a crust, a heart-wrung tear, 
A kindling scoff, a drunkard's bier. 

'' Go ! coward, go ! I envy not 

The sunshine in your chosen lot! 

No knife-drawn blood your hands may 

stain. 
Your nature bears the brand of Cain ! " 

Though shocked by doubt and grieved by 

shame. 
Waif chided not, nor uttered blame, 
The agony, the pride's fierce smart. 
Lay buried in her sad, true heart. 
Knew Holland Heathe, base, weak in will, 
Dishonored, but — her husband still! 

Her life, her love were stricken, yet 
'Twas death to feel, death to forget. 
Forget! O, God, is woman's soul 
A sepulcher? Forever must 
Its longings languish into dust, 
With silence, silence over all? 

With pallid cheek, and lip compressed, 
And eyes that trembled in unrest. 
In voice grown strangely low and weak. 
For Waif, did Holland dare to speak. 

"On me, rest all the dire disgrace; 
The penalty of evil life. — 
Spare her, I love, my precious wife; 
Nor bring her future face to face. 
With what of mine, her guileless sight 
Hath never known ; — Would God tonight 
My soul, as hers, stood pure and white." 

23 



" Sir, sorrow that you w6nt astray, 

Can never wear the crime away. 

And thou dost love her? I would know 

If what we truly love below, 

We injure ; can we smile and smile. 

Betray and calumnize the while? 

"Yet life, yet deeds, have each confessed. 
We deepest wound those loved the best. 
Strange human logic, to have found 
We love those deepest whom we wound." 



24 



Canto Fifth 

{Again a wanderer! — Illness of 
Rolland Heathe I — Westward ! ) 

A fortnight's suns arose and set, 
And Waif and Rolland had not met; 
For distance measured many leagues * 
Between the sorrow-stricken wife, 
Who saw no light In brightest day. 
And him, she deemed her richer life, 
Till Justice bared the bold intrigues 
Of one so loved and gone astray. 

If love could but the forfeit pay, 
All error of the loved one hide, 
We could not seek the Cross today, 
A loving Saviour had not died! 

Fatigued with travel, dust, and heat. 
As Noon's swift, fevered pulses beat. 
Behold a traveler, once more. 
At Jacob Glen's neat cottage door. 

Familiar are the form and face. 
The high-bred mien, the haughty grace. 
Beneath whose mask a sorrow lies. 
Well hidden from all careless eyes. 

''A shelter from the rising blast. 
Safe refuge till the storm Is past, 

25 



Mv need now Is: — methlnks before 
I've knocked and entered at this door." 

"Ay, welcome, sir, you could not find 
A humbler home, nor freer mind." 

List, Mother, can you hear the cry 

Of hungry birdlings in the nest, 

The while the serpent's eager eye 

Is watching o'er their place of rest? — 

The parent birds — canst thou not hear 

Their startled cries of hate and fear? 

O, human Mother, welcome not 
This serpent to home's hallowed spot ! 
The danger, e'en a bird would flee, 
Canst thou not hear? Canst thou not see? 

O, Mothers love your children more ! 
They need it much; Life's misty shore 
Lies so uncertainly before. 
'Tis not the love that clothes and feeds, 
That ministers to all our needs. 



e may not do the thing we choose ; 
We pray to take and still refuse 
The thing we pray for; Rachel's guest 
Asked only for a place of rest. 
Until the morrow's golden sun, 
Had broken Night, and Day begun : — 

But morning brought the fevered brain, 
The quickened pulse, the throb of pain, 
Delirium's kindly mantle threw 
Oblivion o'er the woes he knew. 
And, list'ning to the muttered word, 
The watcher knew the wand'rer heard 
Of childhood's happy breeze and bird. 

26 



O, ill-used Nature ! can you show 
The votaries of vice, that know 
No law of thine, compassion yet? 
Allow them briefly to forget? 

Ah, why should mortals mourn and weep, 
If death means but an endless sleep? 
With lifted hand, and bated breath, 
We comfort grief with such pretense 
As — 'Weep not, 'tis God's providence;' 
And blame him for our dear one's death.' 

Disease is but the brand of Cain • 
For broken law, its penance, pain. 
The only providence it shows. 
Physician's fees, and funeral woes. 

Kind Nature, gentle as a breath, 
Wooed Holland Heathe away from death. 
The raging fever cooled, and stilled 
The anxious pulse; for, unfulfilled 
His life-work, and we mortals must 
Our part perform, unjust or just. 

How slowly to the grief-bound heart, 
The countless hours of life depart! 
The white-robed Hope on mountain height, 
Is only star-crowned; while the light. 
Intense of Sorrow, blinds the eye, 
And tortures, till we pray to die. 

Thus, Holland, as his weakened brain 
Returned to consciousness of pain, 
More hopeless than the shackled slave, 
Drew solace from an open grave. 
Thrice sad, when Joy's triumphant call. 
Resembles most, a bier and pall! 

27 



But kindly hand, and willing heart, 
Will seldom fail to soothe the smart 
Of pungent sorrow; — Rachel's calm. 
And Jacob's earnest zeal and warm, 
With Ida's tender care and true. 
The smile returned, and friendship grew. 

All things we cling to, on the earth. 
Have day of death, as day of birth. 
When June had dimpled from the May, 
Though many pleadings bade him stay. 
Did Holland clasp each friendly hand, 
And hasten to the Western land, 
Across Dakota's grassy plain. 
To Utah's lakes and fields of grain, 
And paused, where Rocky Mountains 

pressed 
The promise of a long-sought rest. 



28 



Canto Sixth 

{An Indian legend of Lost Island Lake in 
Western Iowa. Waifs home. ) 

The hills were purp'llng In the shade 
That crimson-fingered Twilight laid 
So tenderly on distant height, 
To thrill, and thicken Into night. 

The blue lake, green-fringed, In the vale, 

Had never known another sail, 

Than water-lilies, ripple-klssed, 

Or fleecy folds of tender mist : 

And whitest rays of western moon, 

Flad ever kindly shone upon 

The Indian, as he glided through 

The blue waves. In his birch canoe, — 

To East, where, circled by their play, 

Caressed as by a lover true, 

An Island, like an emerald lay. 

The simiple Native proudly trod 
For ages, on Its unturned sod, 
And gave soul-worship to his God, 
To Nature, — all the God he knew. 

A gloom soon rested deep and still, 
O'er lake and Island, glen and hill. 
So close, so dense, one seemed to feel 
The darkness, with the outer sense 
Of touch; a tribute-pall. Intense 
Of human sorrow — and, its seal! 

29 



The wigwam's lire blazed high and bright, 
A thousand held their feast that night. 
There roamed the Maid with supple grace 
Inherent in the Indian race : — 
With small, brown hands, and jetty hair, 
An untaught child, with soul as fair. 

The Brave, by simple right divine, 
A monarch, with the earth his throne, 
Full-statured in his power grown, 
With glance and bearing leonine. 

The rude wild feast was at its height; 
The dun hours measured to midnight, 
When clear and full and long and bold. 
The thunder, like a death-bell, tolled! 

The noisy mirth was hushed in awe 
Of majesty, above his law. 
One moment, as with bated breath. 
We watch the sable god of Death, 
Or, stand again in deeper dread. 
Beside the coffin of our dead. 

So Nature paused, and reverence did, 
Above the flower-strewn coffin-lid. 
Then slowly, slowly, as she must 
Give solemnly her — ' Dust to dust ; ' 
Sank downward, downward out of sight, 
The Island, from the mourning night! 

Long tossed the lake its troubled breast, 
Like human anguish, seeking rest. 
And e'er its startled throb had ceased. 
Some stray beams, from the mottled East, 
Proclaimed the dawn; and nevermore 
Shall sunbeam kiss the Island shore. 

30 



And never shall the red man wake 
The echoes on Lost Island Lake. 

Two centuries with heavy tread, 
Give only memories of its dead; 
Along its villaged banks tonight, 
Gleam many a treasured cottage light. 

One mansion rises from its shore, 
Where whispering pines forevermore, 
Keep sentinel beside its door. — 

Secluded doth the mansion stand 

A castle in Iowa's land. 

Its inmates Waif and Mabel sweet. 

Whose infant presence came to meet 

The Mother's anguish; and to heal 

The wounded heart with love's pure seal. 

And Manah's willful hands provide 
This bounty for the love of those, 
Whom Rolland, deeming them her foes. 
And pleading for, had been denied. 

'Tis Winter; undulating lies 
The drifted snow, in frozen waves; 
Or, like a plain of marbled graves. 
It glistens 'neath the starry skies. 

Full many midnight moons shall wane, 
In crescent new, shall rise again ; — 
Unnumbered eves shall fall and fade, 
But, never shall a home-tree's shade. 
Environ in its loving mirth, 
A purer peace, or sweeter worth. 
Than rests, with undisturbed delight, 
Upon the mansion-house tonight. 

31 



Waif's old-time playmate, Walter Leigh, 
With blue-eyed Mabel on his knee. 
Bends low his handsome head, to please 
The dainty, dimpled hands, that seize 
With noisy shouts of childish glee, 
The rings of sunny hair, that roll 
O'er forehead broad, an aureole. 
Moon, smile on land, sun, glint on sea, 
You hold no fairer sight to me ! 

Waif's trust, like wind-razed vine, had 

grown 
To need a strength beyond its own. 
Like warp to woof had Walter's care 
Been mingled, till she saw not where 
The broken threads were clasped ; yet, knew 
The comfort that her nature drew 
From his ; too weary to descry 
The source, whence came the full supply. 

'Tis thus we press to fevered lip 
The cooling draught, and as we dip, 
Heed not the fountain, whence it comes, 
Nor, whence the devious streamlet runs. 



32 



Canto Seventh 

{Another thread in Rolland's life I 
A withered rose from Ida's lot I ) 

The years have passed; across the deep, 
In lands, where ancient heroes sleep. 
In London's crowded hall there stands 
An earnest speaker, who commands 
Allegiance to a Modern Shrine; — 
A new religion — and — divine. 

In fervid, vivid words he paints, 
The City of the Latter Saints! 
Its Temple, where the Mighty sit, 
Communing with the Infinite. — 
Its future glories, manifold. 
Its homes of love, its streets of gold, — 
"O, Eden fair! O, City free! 
New Zion, by the Western Sea ! " 

With lofty words, that seem to ring 
Conviction, In the truths they bring. 
The Mormon Elder seeks to win 
His hearers, from old paths of sin. 

Dear reader, you can surely trace 
Familiar outlines in that face : — 
The pliant mouth, the brilliant eye, 
Whose haughty glances still defy 
The love of Heaven, the light of earth, 
To yield a perfect, human worth. 

^ 33 

3 



A Mormon Elder! hid beneath 

Such sanctity, is Rolland Heathe ! 

A Missionary of the Sect, 

Our nation passes with a smile; 

Its vile pollution left unchecked. 

Shall seal our homes with blood, erstwhile. 

Four times had Rolland crossed the sea. 
Bold bearer of this Ministry; 
Each time New Zion's hills he sought, 
With hundreds, that his creed had caught. 

And now, kind reader, come with me 
To Zion, by the Western Sea. 
To Mormon Holland's paradise, 
His temple, and, its sacrifice. 

There, live their degraded lives. 

Behold his hapless, so-called wives. 

It cannot be ! — yet, look again ! 

That fair form, you had worshiped, when 

It bore the name of Ida Glen ! 

'Tis she ; we grieve to tell you more. 
She loved the sullied hand that bore 
Its venom to her father's door. 
For deeds of love, gave woe and shame 
That burns an honest cheek to name. 

Since Ida chose this wayward lot, 
Four years are with the things that were. 
Pass backward o'er that time with me. 
And sadly will I show to thee, 
How Rolland, with fair, written thought. 
Enticed her from her parent's cot. 

34 



'Twas springtime ; every budding tree 
Was swaying to the song of birds; — 
A message, from New Zion's Sea, 
Came, couched in earnest, passioned words, 
That told his fervent need of her. 

" I cast aside our social curse. 
That seals a human will to one. 
For love, free as the universe. 
Enfolding all, and binding none ! 

" The world's views yet are in their youth. 

I live a martyr to this truth, 

That God's laws, higher are, than Men's, 

I stand upon His eminence. 

And rise above the motley horde, 

A chosen prophet of the Lord. 

'' Wilt thou leave all and walk with me, 
In Zion, by the Western Sea ? 
From Heaven, thy love hath been revealed. 
By God's own hand, this message sealed." 

With words like these, did Holland seek 
To gain the trusting heart, and weak; 
Until o'er-burdened tenderness. 
Responded to his pleading — "yes," 
Obedient to Love's consciousness. 

Religion ! thy base cloak can show 
More hues of blood, more human woe, 
Than all the annaled crimes we know ! 

Poor Ida, days all false, uncouth, 
Enveloped in a mask of truth. 
Have added years, and taken youth. 
The feeble step, the pallid cheek, 

35 



The saddened tones, the downcast eye, 
The silent, patient bearing, meek, 
Are answers to her prayer to die. 

Who dares to call a sin her grief, 
To speak it punishment, and just. 
Would curse the hand that gave relief, 
Or, trail God's mercy in the dust! 

In spotless robes at his right hand. 
Her purchased innocence shall stand; 
Her weakness, lie forevermore, 
A blood-stained crime, at Holland's door. 

Frail woman ! suppliant to a Chance ! 
The gild or gloom of Circumstance, 
Made victim to your heart's romance ! 
Your aims encompassed in a sphere 
Revolving 'round a smile or tear. 
With what idolatry you hold 
A passion to your trusting heart ! 
The while you quiver with the dart, 
That Love sends with his shining gold ! 
Ay, Love that injures more than hate. 
And scorns what it leaves desolate ! 



36 



Canto Eighth 

(The return voyage! A wreck! Ida's 
death! ) 

Not yet had roused the autumn gale, 
Ere Holland, for the West, set sail. 
The ship held many an eager one, 
Who wept, yet wished the voyage run. 
With him, they journeyed to the goal. 
That promised joy to every soul. 

At last the ship with graceful sweep. 
Moved outward to the boundless deep. 
With lingering clasp, and tear-wet eye. 
The loved, on shore, had said — "Good- 
bye!" 

Each day the vessel swept the sea, 
Brought nearer, home and liberty, 
To sad hearts, throbbing from the pain, 
Of endless toil, and meager gain: 
The ties of home, too newly rent, 
To feel the sting of discontent; 
So, smiles were bright, and hopes were 

high, 
With quiet sea, and cloudless sky. 

One sun-bright day gave o'er her light; 
Wild, storm-tossed billows met their sight. 
Dread Night, in terror, closed again. 
His somber mantle o'er the Main. 

37 



The tempest raged! the wild winds blew! 
Swift flashed the lightning on the view ! 
Incessantly the thunder roared! 
Unceasingly the torrents poured ! 

The noble vessel on the wave, 
Reels onward, while the billows rave; 
Or, lashing, as in fury, rise 
In mockery of angry skies ! 

O, ocean ! now with swelling wave, 
How many to a watery grave 
Hast wooed, when, on thy dimpled breast, 
The rippled waves but promised rest ! 
E'en now, they rush upon that shore. 
In thunder, where they throbbed before ! 

Aboard the Raven, thro' the gloom, 
The gallant crew beheld their doom. 
The master's voice betrayed no fear. 
His orders rang, full, loud, and clear. 
The weak drew courage from his word. 
And ceased the panic, as they heard. 
Thrice dashed the brave ship on the rock, 
Recoiling, shattered by each shock, 
Down, down, away from tempest's roar. 
The brave ship sunk, to rise no more ! 

The morning dawned ; the sun arose ; 
And shone on nature in repose. 
There naught remained on sea or shore. 
To tell what brave ships were no more ; 
Save here and there a timber rent. 
Before the awful gale was spent. 

38 



The dome above, was deepest blue ; 
The ocean calmly rolled below. 
On distant shore no wreck was cast, 
All looked serene, as if a blast 
Had never o'er the waters passed. 
The spent waves, gliding to the shore, 
Of rest told, as they had before. 

Ah, Holland, with the Cross defied, 
How fares it with thy soul today? 
For Christ's blood, thou hast so denied, 
Has ocean washed thy guilt away? 



New Zion's hills are capped with snow. 
The Jordan lies enchained below. 
The maniac winds, in revel, seize 
And toss the boughs of leafless trees. 

'Tis night; the city's lights are fled, ' 
Except by dying one, or dead. 
With timid Ida, lone and white, 
Death plights his solemn troth tonight. 
No ear to hear her startled moan — 
" O, Heaven ! Must I die alone? 
Dear Father, pity, from above ! 
Alone, no hope, no light, no love ! 
Fond, tender Mother, true and mild, 
Wouldst thou forsake thy dying child? 
Loved Father, canst thou let me go. 
Without one touch to soothe this woe? 

"O, RoUand! thou, too, hast forgot, 
Who gave the anguish of my lot ! 
Come ! come ! O, come from foreign shore, 
And hold me to your heart once more ! 

39 



*' Dear Lord, to him, in mercy, show 
Compassion he denies to me: — 
O, Death I thou art my liberty ! 
Thy touch hath made me glad to go ! " 

Ah, sad, betrayed one, soon to know, 
Thy base betrayer lieth low. 
The sea his sepulcher, and deep 
And endless is his somber sleep; 
Thy prayer for him, a record be, 
Of woman's grief and constancy. 
Perchance its strength will rise and meet 
Stern Justice, at the Judgment Seat; 
Forgiveness gain, tho', lone and far, 
Shall rise his pure, Redemption Star. 

The wild night passed; dawn came again; 
The light crept through the frosted pane, 
And paused above the death-closed lid 
Aghast, or, quivered as it hid 
Its startled beams within the gloom. 
Laid in far corners of the room. 

Sad fate indeed, alone to die ! 
To be a wronged, neglected wife ! 
But, sadder, in this world of strife, 
To be alone — alone in life. 
While thronging multitudes pass by ! 

Come, look upon that form of grace ; 
The molded limb, the child-like face. 
The curving lip, the forehead fair. 
The silken curls of gold-brown hair; 
The taper fingers soft and small, — 
Then fold the white shroud over all ; 
Ay, fold the white shroud over all. 

40 



0*er grief, o^er wrong, its pure robe sweep, 
And leave her in this tranquil sleep ; 
With snowy bloom upon her breast, 
The broken heart beneath, at rest. 
One low prayer breathe o'er falling sod, 
And trust her world-called guilt to God ! 



Behold a vision ! black and dread, 
Grew all the heavens ; and the tread 
Of many mourners, smote the ear; 
While jet plumes waved above a bier; 
And dirges rolled, and millions gave 
Obeisance at an open grave. 

Then mighty murmurs rose and swelled 

To tumult, where the coffin held 

In silent state, yet lowly head, 

The Honor of our Country — dead ! 

Polygamy's insidious dart. 
Had been the cancer at the heart, 
That dragged a nation to the gloom 
Of sables, o'er lost Honor's tomb. 

Columbia's rulers calmly smiled 
To usward, crying — "Weep not, child! 
Mourn not a Nation's honor slain. 
For, surely it shall rise again ! " 

Ay, when the future years shall slay 
The idols of a gross Today. 



41 



Canto Ninth 

{A happy lot for Waif and Walter I 
Manah's new home! ) 

The dying sunlight kissed the trees, 
Whose foliage quivered in the breeze; 
It gave the thorn's thick bloom of snow, 
A softer and a purer glow. 

From zenith, down the western sky. 
There swept a cloud of crimson dye. 
Whose beauty for an instant grew 
To gild the Twilight's steady blue. 

Two lovers, 'neath the Maples' shade. 
In silence watched the daylight fade ; 
While song-birds twittered from each tree. 
Their evening lay of ecstasy, 
To those two — Waif, and Walter Leigh. 

Fair Waif, in quiet beauty, stood 

A type of perfect womanhood. 

The girlish loveliness had fled, 

But gave a dignity instead. 

One skilled to read her earnest face. 

The touch of sorrow deep, might trace; 

That had not seared nor heart nor mind, 

But only strengthened and refined: 

For, still the outlines smooth and fair, 

As in her maidenhood they were. 

43 



Her soft dark hair was always dressed 
The way that Walter liked it best. 
The smooth brow, circled by its shade, 
Then folded backward, where it laid 
A coronal of massive braid. 

The lovers watched the Day's farewell, 
Till, down the silence broke and fell 
The spoken thought, like vesper bell. — 

" 'Tis nature's sunset; but, its grace 

To us. Waif, is an omen fair: 

The latest sunbeam kissed your face, 

And left a touch of glory there. 

Our hearts are one, your hand is free! 

Henceforth, in perfect harmony. 

We blend the sounds that thrill the sense. 

In love's own skilled unisonance." 

'' O, Walter, I deny indeed, 
Allegiance to my old-time creed, 
That he who once hears love's refrain, 
Can never truly love again ! 
That other tones may charm the heart. 
But ne'er his liquid lute impart 
Ecstatic sounds, that thrill, and float 
No tangled or discordant note. 

"This was belief; yet, now, I feel 
Sweet measures o'er my senses steal. 
Some old, familiar sounds they bring. 
As pure as virgin airs of Spring. 

" I fear to hold this newer trust. 
Or shield the circumstance that gave 
My past belief an unmourned grave ; — 
I cannot requiem its dust." 

44 




WAIF AND WALTER LEIGH 



'' 'Twere wise to change for larger truth, 
One's creed; nor hold the bigot's plan, 
To keep upon full-statured man, 
The jacket quite outgrown in youth. 
But, worse faith that, which we confess 
Must dwarf the man to fit the dre^ss ! " 

" Yet, Walter, mankind still must live 
The truths its fallen centuries give. 
Your doctrines, in excess, would throw 
Away the anchor used at sea ; 
Or, rend the sails, when foul winds blow; 
Destroy the Needle, if it dip, 
Or give the crew their liberty. 
For fear of mutiny on ship. 

"At Peace would hurl the blade of strife; 
For Misery give no redress ; 
And, having newer love of wife. 
Deny a Mother's tenderness." 

"Ay, Waif, I answer to the first; 

If these have served their purpose — yes. 

Bad anchors, cables, compass, crew, 

Are reasons why so many fail 

To reach the port they have in view — 

Or name the port from whence they sail — 

All love is truth, and not accursed ! " 

"Truth, granted; yet, the Present Age 
Lacks reverence; it flings — Alas! — 
New Creeds in one incongruous mass. 
An ill-manned ship, we put to sea. 
And sink in chartless liberty." 

45 



" Dear Waif, our views are but the same. 
Men prove the virtues of their creeds, 
In noble thoughts, and noble deeds, 
And not in calling of a name. 
The arrant dogmas, wise men hold, 
Are quartz indicative of gold, 
Whose lore is, as the depth of night, 
Compared to God's eternal light." 

" Look, Walter, where the Maples throw 
Their shadows on the grass below. 
Inclined or straight, I ever see 
The shadow simulates the tree. 
So Faith's a staunch tree rooted fast. 
While we are but the shadows cast; — 
List ! hear the wind's soft whisper low, 
' Life's future we must live to know,' 
The twilight deepens, let us go." 

• • • • • 

Since Waif and Walter Leigh were wed. 
Two dimpled Springs, with fragrant tread, 
Have scattered bloom o'er winter's dead. 
The currents of their lives have met. 
In mutual joy, have blended, yet. 
Each heart has found its secret strife, 
Each hand, a labor of its own; 
Their human trust to each has shown. 
Love crowns, but is not all of life. 

Hope joined to hope, and thought to 

thought. 
We leave them in their happy lot; 
And journey to that royal State, 
Where, Nations with their Commerce wait 
Admission at her Golden Gate. 

46 



T?^^u^^? ^^' "^^st-draped mountains rise 
i o heights, where everlasting frowns 
The winter with his snowy crowns, 

Encirding nature's paradise. 

While, bathed in beauty, as a sea. 

Her valleys green securely lie 

Beneath a slumbrous, summer sky. 

Symbolic of the great To Be. 

From north to south on rifted shore. 
The pure Pacific's pulses beat 
In adoration at her feet, 
In adoration evermore. 
Oft, weary of sonorous chant. 
Its passion scorning all control, 
Its giant tones in thunder roll 
From cliff to cliff, reverberant. 

The sun gives her his last good-night; 
Such loyal worship well befits : 
For, looking sea-ward, still she sits 
An empress in her royal right. 

Full fruitage decks her garment's hem; 
I he riches of all regions rest 
Inherent in her throbbing breast, 
A wealth of mines, her diadem. 
O, fairest land, man ever trod ! 
O, proudest realm of youthful fame! 
-Pray Heaven, that, with unsullied name, 
lou own allegiance to your God! 

To southward in this sunny land. 
By fragrant, tropic breezes fanned, 
A cottage stands in spotless white. 
Its green vines half exclude the light 
From windows, and the climbing rose 

47 



Above the door, its perfume throws 
About the entrance. On the lawn 
A fountain whispers to the Dawn, 
Its liquid music ; while birds trill 
An echo on the distant hill. 
No Winter binds the Seasons here, 
In icy bands to chain the Year. 

Here Manah dwells in warm, intense 
Delight of life ; with nature's wealth, 
A loving heart, and rosy health. 
And gift of song, and deeper sense 
Of beauty in a budding rose. 
Than blooming Eden could disclose 
To careless eyes : — O, joy refined ! 
The highest attribute of mind ! 
Her history we may not trace. 
Secluded from the mart and strife. 
She writes the story of her life. 
Its past of woe, its present grace. 
We leave her voice the tale to tell. 
For none can give her life as well — 
If these faint outlines we have shown. 
These human lives in Western Land, 
Shall reach the heart, and clasp the hand. 
And serve to wish her better known. 

The sunlight dies upon the wave*; 
The wind rolls outward to the sea ; 
The Day, with shadows on its grave, 
Has brought a sense of rest to me. 



48 



li^AY a 1906 



■iililil 

h'.m.m^,S,Y O"" CONGRESS 




